


Broken Bird

by BlueRoboKitty



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Child Murder, Childhood Trauma, Dark, Drabble, Gen, Mild Gore, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 16:33:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4529142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueRoboKitty/pseuds/BlueRoboKitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's been here before. He can't seem to stop coming here. To this bad place. A very bad place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Bird

He wakes up to find himself in a cold place, not a crisp cold like winter but a dead, empty cold like a graveyard where the resident corpses are broken frames of buildings half buried in the snow. When he exhales, he cannot see the frostbitten air, but it smells of concrete debris and ammonia and strangely sweet. He’s been here before. He comes here often actually, mostly at night, when his thoughts are too disturbing to let him sleep.

 

_“Hey, Big Brother. What are you doing here again? You need to stop coming here. This is a bad place, you know. A very bad place.”_

 

A teenage boy, barely into puberty, sits on the edge of a broken post, balanced delicately on its sharp edge, and peers down at him with narrowed eyes. He knows this boy. The boy jumps down from the post, shredded clothes whipping behind him, and is suddenly very close to him, and he tries not to throw up as a putrid odor of blood and burnt flesh fills his nostrils and wraps around his throat.

 

 _“Hey,”_ the boys says again with firecracker breath, _“Guess what, guess what? I found something. I think you’ll like it. And then maybe you’ll stop coming here.”_   The boy stands back and holds out his hands, the innocent stance of a child excited to show something cool.

 

And suddenly he’s holding a motorcycle helmet, not all that remarkable and barely registers any meaning to him, and it’s as red as the blood caked around the boy’s sunken eyes like a mask.

 

 _“Put it on,”_ the boy encourages him with a wide, happy smile and he can see the dark gaps between broken teeth. _“It’s magic. Healing magic. It’ll make you feel better. Revenge is a bad thing, that’s what ___ says. But I can help you. If you put on the helmet, then we can get all that revenge out of your system and then you’ll be better and you won’t have to come here anymore.”_

 

The child’s innocent encouragement is impossible to ignore because there is something about this kid, this extremely familiar scrappy little twerp he doesn’t want to disappoint. He puts on the helmet as requested. And then he screams and screams as unimaginable pain crushes into his brain, and the helmet seeps thick and hot over his skull as pain beats into him again and again and again and again.

 

_“So hurry up and let’s kill everyone who hurt you so you can leave forever, okay?”_

 

He falls into the snow and writhes in agony, and the boy lets out a playful, metallic giggle as blood spills from his mouth.


End file.
